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Logs

Gathering no moss

Tags: Brev,  Shaaknar

Short Summary: Human and goblin reach uneasy truce, if not exactly trust
Date (real-life): 2010-06-08
Scene Location: Shaws: Shepherding V illage
Date (in-game): February 3050
Time of Day: Day (midday?)
Weather: Rain
East Road - Near the Trollshaws

    The road here passes through rolling hills. There is hardly any difference between east and west, but the land seems to be rising to the west and dropping to the east. A small footpath leaves the road toward the south. The surrounding terrain is covered in rich pine and hardwood forests that often loom right up to the edge of the road.

Obvious exits:
Shepherding Village, North, East, and West

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                           | Yfelwydan Time (YST) |
==============================================================================
** Real time is: Tue Jun 08 17:44:52 2010, GMT -8 **
Elendor time is: Midday on a Rainy Highday, Day 18 of February 3050.

Note: It's daytime out, so do not leave the cover of trees!
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The sun is at its highest, though to look at the gloomy woods surrounding the Shepherding Village one would not know it. Rain drips through the trees, sliding off sodden leaves or gathering on needled branches to fall groundward with a sudden splash every now and then.

It is against this sodden backdrop that a single figure makes its way across the muddy ground - or rather two figures, one human and one equine. The pony bears both a pair of baskets, from one of which forlorn-looking sticks are protruding, and a spear roped on and balanced precariously across its back and withers. The man? Little of Brev can be seen beneath his grey hooded cloak, but it /is/ clear that his right hand clutches a dagger. This he is currently using to hack at a clump of moss, which resists his efforts with squelches and the soft squeak of knife against stem.

[Shaaknar(#16331)] A little deeper into the shadows of the forest, others things lurk -- or rather, in this case, sleep. Not too far beyond in the foliage come the faint sounds of snoring. At the base of one of the trees, Shaaknar has hollowed out a part of the ground, and there he lays, awkwardly curled up amid the protruding arms of the roots. A series of stained bandages run down along an arm from a shoulder. The Uruk-hai is asleep, though who can say for how much longer?

Brev glares at the resisting moss, and slices perhaps a little harder than need be. The entire clump comes free with a jerk, sending him tumbling backward into the rain and mud. A curse in Dunael ensues. Then, prize firmly in hand, he pushes himself back to his feet and jerks his head at the pony. "On."

But for some reason the animal balks. "I know, I know. I don't like the bloody rain either," Brev mutters to it and then, when the beast snorts and edges away, "Trouble?" Dagger in hand, he peers warily round the nearest tree. Does evil still slumber?

[Shaaknar(#16331)] Indeed it does, although only for a brief while more; the rain continues it steady downpour, and already the 'bed' between the roots has filled up with a considerable amount of water. Being trapped in the dug-out hole, it has nowhere to go, and has risen to nigh mouthlevel. The snoring disturbances turn into spluttering, and there is a rather loud snarl as the orc jerks awake. He seems not to have heard any signs of the human or the pony above his own growling. Still muttering to himself, Shaaknar scrambles out from the tree-base, rain and mud dripping off his leather armor.

As he begins to calm down once more, he gives a sniff. And he frowns. A horrid black tongue licks his mouth.

Brev tenses at the sound of that choking growl, automatically dropping into a fighter's crouch. When that dark figure rises from the very bowels of the earth, he seems content to merely watch.

But Mescan has other ideas. At the sound of snarling, he turns and wheels into the trees, hooves kicking up clods of mud.

Brev's breath hisses out, quietly in comparison with the commotion his beast is making, and then he rises carefully to his feet, keeping as much of his body as possible behind the selected tree. "Ready to run, goblin man? Pity you don't look in too good a shape."

[Shaaknar(#16331)] "Don't need your sympathy, pah!" spits the Isengarder in growled Common, whirling about with a grimace in the direction of the voice, and the commotion of the pony. His red eyes watch it rush off, ere they resume flitting amidst the undergrowth in an attempt to spy the speaker. "Go back to your precious village, scum, if you know what's good for you..if not, well, you may not like what I do." The creature fumbles around for something coiled in the dirt. Slowly, a long tangled rope is withdrawn from the mud.

The sound of running hooves fades a little, then is replaced by the thrashing of bushes - likely the spear tied across the pony's back has caught on something. Brev scowls, then risks letting out a piercing whistle in attempt to call the beast back. /If/ the creature manages to get itself free again.

"Oh, I don't, goblin-man," he answers the goblin warily. "I don't like you, or your actions, or your filthy double-faced master. Hurts, does it? I could help. A well-placed dagger and you'll never feel pain again. Or suppose other things would do the trick ..." He shrugs.

For all the words' bravado, he edges backward to another different tree, his gaze never leaving the rope. Clearly he has at least some ideas of uses that could be put to, and does not like them - no, not at all.

[Shaaknar(#16331)] "I wouldn't do that," comments the uruk-hai, his mouth snaking into a nasty grin. "There are plenty more of us, you know..might be hiding anywhere. Careful where you retreat, manling. There might be net traps set up here and there.." Is he bluffing?

Then, Shaaknar's forehead furrows, and he eyes the backpedaling human suspiciously. "You can fix this?" He stiffly shrugs the hurt shoulder. "Don't trust your kind.." He takes several advancing steps in pursuit. "Should catch you with this," he tugs the rope, "and make you fix it."

Brev lets out a throaty chuckle, the relentless rain hiding any sweat that springs up on his brow at the effort of remaining 'casual'. "There might. But my friends will be along any minute. Whereas you ... are alone. Afraid of your them, aren't you? The others of your kind. They don't like weakness." His lips curve in a forced, masklike grin.

For a moment his gaze flickers upwards, but at the approaching steps he quickly return his focus to the larger menace at hand. "Trust? There's a word for fools who do that ... dead. But sometimes you've got to take a risk. Here." He tosses something at Shaaknar - it is the handful of moss he was cutting earlier. If nothing else, it at least frees up his left arm - and his right is, of course, still holding his dagger.

[Shaaknar(#16331)] An annoyed snort is given, and the orc snarls. "I'm alone because I choose to be alone. Never said I was afraid --" His eyes follow the flight of the mossy plant, and after a moment's hesitation, he roughly stoops and stuffs it into a pouch. "No, will you be useful and tell me how to use it, or shall I need to put this to use instead?" The broad sword stays at his side for now, while both hands are busy fiddling with that wretched rope.

"That depends on whether you drop that bloody rope," Brev retorts, watching the fiddling. "As for the moss? You could use it to wipe your arse." He snorts. "Or you /could/ use it on that arm of yours. The choice is yours. You /could/ even ask me where to find more. Course, if you try to tie me up I might .. misremember. There's an awful lot of plants out there. Hard to tell those that kill from those that cure, sometimes."

[Shaaknar(#16331)] At the retorts, the uruk-hai's fists clench angrily, and his face shifts into an ugly expression as he forces a smooth response -- although the irritation and hatred might still be found therein easily enough. "That's a pity, then. Sure you'd un-'misremember' once I tickled you with this after catching you." He points to the weapon at his left.

"Fine," with a growl, Shaaknar tosses the rope over his shoulder, letting it fall from his grasp into the dirt behind him. "Now, willing to talk, filth? Where can I find more of this? /What/ is it? Better not be poison.."

Brev eyes the broadsword. "Funny, I think that might jog my memory in a way you wouldn't fancy. Figure if my life or health were at risk I'd ... take steps to preserve it."

He eyes the dropped rope. "But since it isn't." A forced, stiff smile. "I'll show you where to find it. Don't get too close, I still have this." He turns the dagger-blade slightly, letting rain drip slowly off it, then begins to back slowly away. He does seem to be choosing his footing rather carefully, testing each step before he puts weight on it, just in case. "And it's .. ach, don't have the words in your Common tongue. A binder? Do you want a poison?"

[Shaaknar(#16331)] Lips pull back to reveal stained fangs, bared in a fresh scowl. "Can't preserve yourself if you're tied up real tight, can you?" But the malintent dwindles as Brev starts leading. A snort rises in his throat, but Shaaknar nevertheless watches that dagger-blade carfefully. He itches idly at the shoulder, muttering something that sounds like, "Accursed thing."

He follows slowly, keeping his claws away from the hilt of his sword. His crimson stare the orc keeps focused on the human, afraid to blink perhaps in case Brev decides to make a sudden dash. "No, I don't want a posion!" He hisses, fists curling once more so that a trickle of black falls from them. "Nevermind then. It doesn't matter what it's called, so long as it heals the cuts."

Brev, breathing perhaps a little faster than normal, continues a retreat until he's near the place where he'd cut the moss before. "Oh, it heals cuts. It seals the wound and stops the blood flowing - by the looks of you you're needing it." He jerks his chin toward the goblin's arm without ever taking his gaze from those malignant eyes. "And your threats mean nothing. Anything I do, I do because I choose. And I expect something in return. Your kind have their uses, I have mine. Understood?"

Speech at the end, he jerks the dagger-tip slightly downward to indicate the spongy ground beneath his feet, to which at least three different kinds of mosses can be seen clinging.

[Shaaknar(#16331)] As they come upon the spot, the Isengarder stops, peering downward at the indicated plants and raising a brow. "So, which one is it, or can they all be used for the same purpose?" The rest of the speech is listened to with a look of disinterest, and Shaaknar folds his arms across his chest -- no doubt not the best of motions, for it draws a pained expression. "Suppose you're hinting that it'd be right for me to return the favor, manling? Well, what would you want? Besides your life," he adds lastly, mouth jerking at the end in a smirk.
"No." That single word in response to Shaaknar's question is uttered flatly; only after the arms are folded does Brev squat down - perhaps a little stiffly? - and use his dagger-blade to part a clump of moss. "You want the one with red roots, see. Green's not much use, and the black - well, lets just say you'd best avoid it. Won't kill you, but not pleasant." He pulls the side of his mouth back in a mirthless grin.

"And my life's not negotiable." The words are hard. He pauses, rising again with a single strand of moss in his hand. "But there are men laired up in this forest. Sharing your living quarters, stealing away your prey. Reckon you should do something about that, 'stead of wasting your time watching stone walls and closed gates."

Suggestion made, he tosses that single strand of moss Shaaknar's way and begins a retreat, rather more hasty than before. Moving at speed, he can seen to be limping a little.

The thrashing sound from the bushes has stopped long since, though where the rough-coated pony has got to by now, who can say?

[Shaaknar(#16331)] The comment on sharing and stealing rouses attention noticeably, but then the next statement comes, and causes the orc to garble a harsh, "Hmph." He watches closely as the Dunlending cuts the moss, and offers a jerked nod at the roots and their explanations. As the Man begins to slip away, Shaaknar takes the moment to stiffly lower himself to a crouch, finally taking out the broadsword and turning it upon the plants. The pouch at his side is readied.

"Don't worry," he laughs darkly over his shoulder, glancing that way briefly, "it will not be 'watching stone walls' for much longer. More like crushing walls."

Brev stiffens slightly at those words tossed his way. "Thanks for the heads-up," he responds. "Might be a good time to be somewhere else, hmm?" Then he's on his way again, limping through the rain until he's out of sight.

Soon after comes a whinny, followed by the sound of soft and soothingly spoken Dunael obscenities. Man and steed have been reunited, and no doubt it is a joyous reunion.


Date added: 2010-06-09 15:31:55    Hits: 46
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